Winter


The frost sprinkled its cold fiery kiss through lips of static,
swirled into an equation of meaningless questions and necessities,
releasing a slow iridescent stream of passion into the air.

The soft music of a haven played throughout,
like a soft whisper of the northern winds.

Streaks of golden light whimpered through lashes,
like the cold summer nights that the moon adorns
with stars and soft wisps of coverage.

An attitude was both graceful with a hint of godlike ecstasy,
and a soft warm morning that the birds are strangely quiet,
a peaceful embrace.

The world dies yet is born again,
A soft blanket is thrown lightly over the hills of land,
Mother Nature cares for its kin.

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